The Beggar's Opera by Peggy Blair Read Free Book Online Page B

Ribs poked through his skin. His right eye was heavily bruised.
    Apiro gently turned the boy over. There were flat purple bruises on his back. He used his gloved hands to pull down the boy’s shorts and underpants.
    “Look here,” he said, pointing out injuries to the rectum, small tears.
    “Rape?”
    “At this age, not likely to be consensual,” the doctor murmured. “There was a strong degree of force involved in this assault. It would have been very painful for this child to sit down for some time, excruciating to go to the bathroom.”
    “Do you know how he died?”
    “I can’t say yet for sure, but based on this,” Apiro pointed tosome swelling at the back of the head, “I would guess he was hit with something hard.”
    “And the bruises on his face and back?”
    “Hard to say. The ones on his face could be from the rocks. I will have to assess the bruises at the autopsy to know for sure. My guess, though, is that they were ante-mortem injuries. Caused before death, not after.”
    “From blows?”
    “Ah, Ricardo, I cannot be sure with a boy of this age. Boys play, they climb trees, they run into things, they push each other, they fight. But once I see everything and evaluate all the known facts together, I will have a better idea. I will do the autopsy this afternoon. I have to, really,” he said wistfully. “Our refrigeration unit is not working properly.”
    “Bad luck,” Ramirez said, thinking of the conditions Apiro would have to work in once the afternoon heated up.
    The pathologist grinned. “Bring your cigar.”

TWELVE
    A giant Christmas tree sparkled in the lobby. It was decorated with long strings of flashing blue and green lights that lit up at different times so the entire tree changed colour as if by magic. The twinkling lights hurt Mike Ellis’s eyes. He took the elevator up to his room and undressed, took his time showering for the second time that day. His eyes stung from the water, but at least his legs felt like they were his own again.
    Ellis dried himself off and walked naked across the room, pulled the curtains tightly to keep out the light. He found a pair of chinos in one of the drawers. He put on a clean pair of briefs, a golf shirt, slid on socks, shoes, grabbed his sunglasses, and rode the elevator down to the lobby.
    The skylight over the restaurant below him dripped with the residue of early morning rain, but the open sky above was pure blue. Another beautiful, ruined day.
    It was just after eight, but the currency exchange desk was open. He cashed his travellers cheques, folded the money, and put it in his back pocket.
    As he entered the lobby, Ellis looked over at the concierge desk and saw Miguel. The doorman moved towards the door asEllis approached, ready as always to let him out, his white gloves immaculate, his hat set exactly straight. A handsome young man.
    “Merry Christmas, Señor Ellis,” Miguel said, smiling, and pushed the revolving glass door. But instead of walking through it as he usually did, Ellis stopped.
    “Merry Christmas to you, Miguel,” he said and tried to smile back, but his lip no longer moved on the side where the knife had snagged. “Listen, I lost my wallet somewhere last night. Probably somewhere around El Bar. You know, Hemingway’s bar. Any idea what I can do about it?”
    “I will call the police for you, Señor, and let someone know to contact you here so you can file a report. I am not sure what office handles it. Do not worry, I will take care of it for you.”
    “Thanks. I don’t imagine they can do too much, but it had my passport in it.” He gave Miguel the details and a ten-peso note. “This is to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. And also because it’s Christmas.”
    “Thank you ,” Miguel said and quickly slipped the money into his own pocket. He gave Ellis a huge smile and a handshake so hard it hurt.
    Five pesos was almost a month’s wage in Cuba. Ten CUCs, the tourist currency in pesos, was a great